A Long Dark Knight
by randomideaguy
Summary: Imagine a world without a Batman, where darkness still rules the streets of Gotham. Imagine a world where that fateful shot that had taken the lives of Thomas and Martha Wayne had also taken the lives of their son, Bruce. This is that world.


Gotham City.

"City of Failures", as many liked to call it. Everyone over thirty had given up on any sort of dream or idealism or goodness inside of them. That's probably why crime was so bad. This was the graveyard of the American Dream, where people came to succeed and – well – didn't. It wasn't like some supernatural curse on the city, that's just how things turned out. And one either accepted or went insane. Sometimes both.

Failed comedians, computer experts, cops – you name it, Gotham had it in the "failed and given up" variety. There was no semblance of righteousness in this place, no "good man" left. If there had ever been one at all. This place was decadence, the center of sin, Satan's playground. Or, to remove the drama that the other, cleaner cities attached to Gotham's name – it was run by the mob. Pure and simple. This city had been given over to crime many years ago. Some attributed it to the death of the Wayne's, the last true philanthropists in Gotham, but that was dishonest. The cancer had been coming for a long time, as people strove and strove and strove for that next paycheck, selling their souls for a dollar bill until finally...

Richard was pulled abruptly out of his brooding state by the loud cough of a cop sitting down next to him – leaving a space, of course. Just enough that they didn't look like they were actively associated. The cop looked straightforward, away from Richard. He was bald and wrinkly, a relic of times long gone. Something of an honest cop. Almost, anyways. Richard had met him while doing some investigating of his own, down in the abandoned metro system.

Looking for informants. And he found his man, down in the gutters. The only place justice seemed to reside these days. Quite sad, really. Richard grunted in acknowledgment of Officer Sharpe's presence and pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket, nonchalantly tossing it over to the dirty old man. It was three month's wages for Richard. All he had, really. But he didn't care about the money, he cared about the information.

"Where is he, Sharpe?"

"You get right to the point, don't you?"

"Don't waste my time, unless you want me to take money elsewhere."

"We both know you wouldn't find another informant."

There was a short pause, as Richard maintained a completely solemn and gaunt face.

"Anyways, a little birdie told me that your boy was going to be at Monolith Square around one or two o clock tonight to pick up an escort and some green."

Richard grunted, "That's it?"

"Yeah. He's staying on the down low lately, what with that Marksman character fucking up his shit. Did you hear that asshole massacred an entire warehouse of Falcone lieutenants?"

Richard grimaced. He'd seen the gruesome photos.

"Yes, I have." He stood up, and subtly nodded at the officer. "Thanks for the tip, Officer." And with that, he walked away, no longer having any use for the officer. They creep had taken long enough to show up, and he only had so long for his work break. His stomach growled hungrily, but he forced down the feeling of need with a grimace. His body was a plaything of his will.

Or, at least, that's how he wanted it to be.

He stopped halfway back to work and picked up a hot dog, consuming it with great speed and little grace and he walked the few blocks from the park back to his place of work – a factory of Drake Industries. He was a mechanic, you see, hired on as a favor, but otherwise left to his own devices. While getting the job had been done for him, it was up to him to make himself a valuable employee worth keeping.

And that was something he respected – honesty and integrity. Though he wasn't his real father, Richard had a great about of respect for Jack Drake, his stepfather. The kindly old man had adopted Richard at the tender age of eight years old, after he had the unfortunate experience of seeing his own parents gunned down in front of him by a man working for the mob. After many years, Richard had gathered more and more information about the incident, against the advice of his father, and had pieced together most of the night.

It had been Mario Falcone's initiation into his father's empire. Unlike Drake, Carmine had forced his son to prove himself before he would allow him into the greatest gang in the history of Gotham. Carmine Falcone was the king, the end of the line. All trains stopped at him. He controlled every inch of Gotham, from the gutters to the mayor's office. So, Mario had to prove himself to his father by knocking off a few acrobats who owed him money.

The very thought of how trivial it had been for the Falcone's just added to the rage that had driven Richard since that fateful night where the rest of the Flying Graysons had been gunned down in cold blood in their own tent. He clenched his fist despite himself, getting caught up once again in that dark feeling that had entered him when he discovered why it had happened.

That Marksmen guy was a piece of work, but on some sick, dark part level of Richard's mind, he admired the cold blooded bastard. It was a massacre, in every sense of the word, what had happened to those thugs. But that was it, they were just thugs. More importantly, they were Falcone's thugs. It was clear at this point that the shadowy figure had eyes for Falcone's island.

Personally, Richard just hoped the guy left Mario alive for him. He wanted to wrench that asshole's neck like a chicken. The rest of the mob, the costumed freak could take down. Let the blood overflow from the gutters, that was all okay with Richard. As long as he got his revenge, he had eyes for no one else.

He paused. This entire thought process would have deeply disturbed his stepfather. Jack was a noble one, and had always stuck to his guns. Unfortunately, that had been the cause of Drake Industries steady decline over the last two decades, as he was impossible to corrupt. It was truly admiring to see, and Richard hoped that one day he could achieve the moral fiber of the old man. To be a good example to his loving stepbrother, at the very least, if not for himself.

Thankfully, he wasn't able to wallow much longer in the dark corridors of his mind, as he finally saw his place of work in the distance. That wasn't what pulled him out, though. It was the sight of his only friend in the world, his co-worked at Drake Industries and the smartest man Richard had ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with – Warren McGinnis.


End file.
